


In this quiet where no one else hears

by JoCarthage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blasphemy, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:52:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoCarthage/pseuds/JoCarthage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas find other uses for holy oil. There's some light-weight plot here, but it's really PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In this quiet where no one else hears

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



“I can’t,” Cas rushed, pushing back from where he’d pinned Dean against the sidewall of the house they were investigating. Sam was around at the front door, talking the paranoid owner around to letting the “building inspectors” into his white-washed mansion while Dean and Cas went around the back.

They’d gotten distracted bumping shoulders as they walked through the tall wooden gate. Dean had let Cas go first and had then snatched and tugged his overcoat sash. Castiel stopped, turned to glare, and found Dean up against his body. Dean wrapped an arm between the sway of the angel’s back and his overcoat and the angel pushed his hips to the hunter’s. Then, faster than Dean could immediately track, the angel had pinned him to the peeling wall. 

Cas had kissed _him_ , Dean had been sure. But now he was standing a stiff arm away, fingers seemingly unwilling to let go, breathing hard and face flushed. Dean willed his trouser-based concerns away to try and focus on his friend.

“What’s up, Cas?”

The angel shook his head like he was trying to clear it of gnats. His hand raised towards his ear for a second before he dropped it limp again to his side. He squeezed his eyes closed and then opened them, looking at Dean with a tight frown.

“Hey,” Dean said, trying to move forward, arms raising to pull his friend in. But Cas kept his arm stiff and his hand restraining on Dean’s shoulder. A shot of cold slithered down Dean’s sternum and into his stomach. He ducked his head to Cas’s eye level and said again,

“Cas, what’s up?”  
  
“They’re listening.” Castiel muttered. Dean ran through the possibilities and came up on empty—there was only one crazy old man living in that house, and they were far enough from the door there was no way Sam had heard the bump of Dean’s back against the sidewall.

“Who’s listening, Cas?” Dean said, trying to keep his voice low and reasonable.

“My brothers.” His voice was frustrated, ashamed.

“They’re also watching. They can see everything I say and do, Dean; _everything_. Most are not hunting me, so I am, we are, probably _physically_ safe but emotional privacy—no. Not now, not ever.” Castiel’s eyes were tight with worry.

“They are,” Castiel paused, “Curious. Invasive.”

Dean nodded, creeped out. “So, if we do the nasty—”

“They’ll be watching every moment of it.” Castiel’s voice was as flat as ever, but sounded pissed. Dean ducked in closer, pushing back against Cas’s hand and feeling him let the bend back into his elbow. He pressed a kiss to the angel’s lips, moving against his as he whispered,

“Fuck them then, let’s give them a show,” slipping a hand between them.

Castiel shook his head slowly, pursed lips rubbing velvet-soft on Dean’s parted mouth. He softened his body, flowing closer and closer to Dean, responses slightly off. When Sam yelled for them out the window they broke apart, Dean drawing his hand away from the angel’s waist with eyes promising more later, and soon.

\--

They finished the case quickly—the house was being haunted by the murdered mother-in-law of the current inhabitant. A quick salt-and-burn job. On the ride home in the Impala, Castiel kept his palm on the nape of Dean’s neck from the passenger’s side seat. Sam gave them one long look before settling into his back corner and reading his book. They had two full beds between the three of them, Dean and Cas sharing. Dean dumped his bag on the bed, then went to the car to carry the jug of holy oil Cas had brought back from Jerusalem into the room and set it in the exact center of the table.

This thing between the two of them was newer than some beer Dean kept in the car. There’d been a night waiting out Raphael’s appearance when Dean’s hand had drifted over the angel’s back and Castiel had leaned into it like he needed it.

Then a change of their soaking clothes in the bathroom of a truck stop, when Dean’s stomach clenched at the long, pale line of Castiel’s body as he pushed his rain-tight pants down. Then Castiel’s touch on his forehead to wake him up from a hell-dream, which turned into a caress, which turned into a sleep-deprived Dean yanking the angel down by the neck to kiss him and hold him as a shield against his nightmares. 

It was new, but it was stable and growing. Dean liked ache of building up as much as any man, but he disliked the thought that their groove could be permanently chilled by Cas’s pervy cousins.

Sam went for a walk a bit after they arrived in the motel, which Dean took as a silent show of support. As soon as the door closed, Dean closed on Castiel, backing him between the small table with the jug of holy oil and the wall.

“Can they hear me now?” He whispered, breath brushing Cas’s longer hair away from his ear.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel said, voice confused. “My brothers have perfect hearing. Barring interference, they will always see what I see and hear what I hear.”

“What if you’re thinking of something else?” Dean asked, inching step closer to the angel at each word.

Dean sank to his knees, looking up at the angel through his blond lashes, his hands on his hips, thumbs tracing small circles, catching and pulling at his pleats. He pressed his face closer and pressed a hot breath through the angel’s slacks. “Can you think of something else?”

“I can endeavor,” Castiel said. He raised his hands from his sides to gently settle them on Dean’s shoulders. Dean mouthed his way around a small but growing bulge in the angel’s pants, getting the cloth slick and pushing more of his warmth through.

The angel’s head fell back with a soft thunk, eyes half-open and staring at the terrible wallpaper ringing the top of the room. He started muttering in Enochian, some kind of list. Dean grinned and unslipped the angel’s button, sliding the fly down. He pulled Cas’s pants and underwear just under his ass, got a grip at the base of the angel’s cock, and slid it in. He was just catching a rhythm when Cas’s voice changed, his hands became hard on the hunter’s head, and he felt the jerk-slip of sudden spacial travel.

Castiel was out of his mouth and crumbled on the floor, one hand on Dean’s shoulder and the other gripping the handle of the jug of holy oil.

“Cas!”

Dean quelled his arousal and crawled around to the angel’s head, tucking a hand under it and pulling his nape up away from the cold concrete. The angel’s eyes were bleary but his hand was still connected with Dean’s shoulder, palm pressing into its print on his skin.

“What the fuck was that, Cas?”  
  
“Those hunting me found us, you need to,” Castiel coughed, and tried to straighten himself. “You need to text Sam.” Dean cursed and pulled his phone out of his too tight pants. He told Sam not to come back to the motel room and to meet then a state away. He kept the hand not speed-texting Sam tucked under the angel’s head, flexing his wrist with each small breath as the angel settled down against him.

When Sam was out of danger, Dean took in their surroundings. They were in an enclosed space—a basement. A creepy, dark-in-the-day basement. Dean took a breath and the smell confirmed it. They were back at the ghost house of that afternoon

Castiel was recovered enough to tug at his pants, trying to cover his ass from the cold concrete. Dean smoothed a hand down his chest and helped him get the leverage to lift up and slipped a hand in to tuck him back in.

“Did they find us because I…”

Castiel closed his eyes but Dean knew what he would say.

“Yes." 

“Ah.” He said, gongs ringing in his ears. “So does that mean we can never…” 

“No, we can but,” Castiel’s eyes were still closed, but he turned away, into Dean’s thigh, and told his jean pant, “But I can never let me guard fully down. I must,” he turned his face up, eyes a startling blue, diving into Dean’s and pulling him into their depths all at once. 

“I must keep my walls, even when you’re within them. I was broadcasting my pleasure, before.” Dean didn’t have a clear idea of what that would feel like, but it didn’t sound like fun.

“We don’t have to—“

“No!” Castiel said, sitting up and nearly head-butting Dean in the chin. “No,” he said more calmly. “I _want_ to. But we must be careful.” Dean nodded. He paused, looking around again.

“But why are we down here?”  
  
“I panicked. I took myself to the nearest protected place where I had most recently felt safe and surrounded and,” The angel was looking to the side, almost as if he was shy. "Where my feelings matched what I had just been feeling in our motel room."

“Well,” Dean said, shifting his hands under the angel’s arms, lifting him up and scooting his legs under him until the angel was in the hunter’s lap, legs played and arm braced back behind him. He wrapped his free arm around him and the angel sighed against him, laying his head back on the hunter’s shoulder. With his free hand, he moved the vessel of holy oil out of the way. “Why don’t we try?”

“This will be most frustrating,” the angel said before grinding himself down onto Dean’s erection, face disciplined.

Dean laughed and ran his hand across the angel’s chest, from the top of his shoulder through the valley of his chest, to his opposite hip. He ducked his head down, placing his lips on the angel’s pulse point. He felt the tap-tap-tap of the angel’s pulse against his lips and the slowly warming skin’s sleek smoothness. 

“We don’t have to,” Dean said, and in a flash Castiel had flipped over and hooked an anchoring knee over the hunter’s thigh.

“I want to.” The angel said. 

Not needing to be told thrice, Dean leaned back, pulling the angel on top of him.

“What do you need from me to keep your barriers up?” He said. 

“There’s nothing you can do. Just be with me,” the hunter nodded and reached up for the angel’s head to pull him down into a kiss. This time, Castiel was much more active. He writhed on top of Dean, working a leg between his and grinding hard and often until both their cocks were aching with the pressure and lack of direct contact.

For his part, Dean slid a hand of the angel’s back under his trench coat, finding the flexes and grooves of the angel’s spine and running his fingers up and down. The angel nudged and pushed and thrust until Dean was bucking into him.

It was powerful until it became overpowering and one push too much left them both wincing and feeling crushed. Dean worked a hand between them, unzipping Cas’s pants for the second time that night and then waiting for a moment while Cas caught up and attacked his zipper. He hooked a thumb under his own pants and slide them down, hissing a little at the cold sting of the concrete on his cheek before realizing the angel was on his knees above him, holding his own cock in his hand, lining them up together with battlefield precision.

But, _Ah_ , when he laid himself down, Dean’s mind flashed white and loud and too perfect to let go of. He bucked and with a bit of precum they began to slide together. Castiel circled his fingers lazily around and between their cocks, giving them each pressure and texture without too much guidance.

He pushed and pushed and finally found a pounding rhythm Dean matched with force. Dean opened his eyes as the angel shifted position a little, changing hands between them. Dean saw Cas’s expression was rapturous, but restrained, eyes still in his blossoming face.

Dean kept bucking up and Cas kept pressing down, until, in a moment made up of breaths and sliding fingers, he came and the hunter soon followed. That cold slip of sadness never left the angel’s face. 

When they were done, the angel shifted himself lower, until his head was on the hunter’s chest. Dean watched his black hair rise and fall above his chest and found the strength to lift a shaking hand to brush the sweat-soaked hair out of the angel’s face.

“That was good, yes?” He said, not unsure but unsure. 

“Yes, I was able to keep control the entire time. We were never in danger.” Castiel’s voice was a little raspy, but direct. 

Dean paused for a moment, and then pressed on, “But did you like it?” The angel’s face froze and Dean’s spine matched its drop in temperature. He was backtracking, backing up, backing away, shifting his body, when the angel seized him by the small hairs at the back of his neck and yanked him in for a thorough kiss.

“ _Yes_ , Dean, yes I did.” The angel was forcing some serious eye-contact here, and Dean tried to keep up with his intensity.

“And the keeping us protected wasn’t so hard that you missed the main attraction?” Dean could see Castiel translating this inside his mind, and then a sly smile spread from his mouth to his eyes and the creases beside them. 

“Oh yes, I did get  the ‘main attraction,’” he said.

“Good,” Dean said, flopping down on the angle’s stomach.

They lay there for what felt like a dozen minutes before Dean began to shift, trying to coax his blood flow into something resembling normalcy. With one particular stretch, the top of his foot brushed the container of holy oil. In his post coital haze a number of possibilities floated by, and then layered into a discrete idea.

Trailing his hand down his lover’s side, he asked,

“Cas?”  
  
“Hmm?” the angel replied.

“What would happen if,” and then he paused, wondering if this was going to sound terrible and entrapping and abusive if he said it out loud. He simmered while the angel slowly rotated his head up, until he was staring the hunter in the chin.

“What, Dean?” He asked, sounding a bit irritated.

Dean speed-talked it: “Would you be able to have sex without your brothers listening in if we did it in the middle of a circle of holy fire?” He could feel Castiel blinking long and hard, then settling his head back down on the hunter’s chest.

“It is possible. We would have to experiment.”  
  
“But would you, ah, be interested in trying?”

“Absolutely, Dean. Just,” and the angel yawned, “Not right now.”

Dean settled his hands on the angel’s back with a chuckle.

\--

The way the next few months went, with Sam’s addiction and Castiel’s increasing humanity and the entire world going to shit, that night in the haunted house’s basement was the longest the two men had to enjoy each other until the night when Castiel’s secret come out. They had come in each other’s hands and mouths and bodies a few hurried times after that, but never had the luxury of time, and Castiel was not the only one who was unable to concentrate fully on their joint pleasure.

After Sammy went to Hell, Dean wouldn’t speak to him. Sammy back and recovering, they began to speak again, but Castiel was too aloof, too hard to catch for them to build a bridge over which that physicality, that exclusiveness of their relationship could creep back.

And so it didn’t, and they lay dormant, like lupin seeds awaiting a wildfire to bloom.

\--

 _Whoosh_. Dean dropped the lighter and Castiel had an instant where he could have made it out. He knew exactly the combination of gas and air it took to light up the circle, how fast the flames would spread, how he would be alone with the urn of holy oil and surrounded by flames. He sent out last instructions to his brothers, preparing to hear nothing but his own thoughts and Dean’s incising words from outside. Dean wasn’t inside the alighting circle but he couldn't leave when he looked like that.

Dean face lit from below had no kindness in it. He looked older, haunted. Sam and Bobby didn’t look any better, but the extra shine to Dean’s eyes particularly hurt. Castiel knew what he was doing was right, but the suction under his ribs couldn’t support that conviction. Then Dean backed up, toward the door. Castiel kept his eyes down. Maybe if Dean couldn’t see the deception in his face, it wouldn’t hurt him so much. He saw out of his peripheral vision, Dean’s body jerk towards the wall of holy fire like he wanted to step over and throttle the angel. But self-preservation instinct kept him back.

Castiel felt a cold jerk, even as the flames gusted higher as Dean opened the door. Would he leave him alone, a victim to the first demon to find him clipped? But Dean jerked his head outside and said to Sam and Bobby. 

“Hey guys, I need to talk with Cas. Get back home and start working on this Raphael thing.” Sam’s eyes were wide and Bobby was muttering at nearly-human-perceivable tones, but they went.

Dean closed the door as it creaked and stood with his forehead pressed against it, plaid-covered back to the staring angel. He turned and his face was lit from below by the cruel flames. 

He pushed himself off the door and was sprinting, hurling himself from the ground and the flames gusted higher and Castiel reached for him and grabbed his shoulder faster than any human and most angels could manage, and pulled the hunter to his chest away from the hell-hot flames. He had him for a beat, the heat of his body running thrills down the angel’s torso and legs before he remembered where their hearts were headed and thrust the hunter away. Not so far as to endanger Dean, make him stumble into the flames, but full arm’s length of thinking space.

Dean’s face was open from anguish. Castiel drove his eyes to the floor, too hurt by the pain in his former lover’s eyes.

“You need to look at me, man.” Dean said, voice surprisingly steady for the hunched way he held himself. He still hadn’t pulled away from Cas’s grip; he would have had precious-little space to take himself if he so chose.

Castiel kept his eyes down. Dean’s shoulders got tighter but he felt his elbows forced down and Dean’s hands came to rest in their crooks. The hunter stepped forward, into his space. The angel felt a hand slip up his arm, brush along his shoulder, knuckles up over his Adam’s apple, to grip his chin between a calloused thumb and forefinger. He felt human pressure on his chin and acquiesced, letting Dean move him though no amount of force could have made him. 

Dean’s green eyes were painful, wide and searching and resigned. _He never thought he’d deserved a friend_. Castiel thought, suddenly, betrayingly. _He never thought he deserved us_. Castiel snapped his eyes back down, but not before that knowledge was plummeting, crashing through his self-built scaffolding holding up his conviction that he was right, splintering every one.

His last shields dropped. He fully felt the betrayal in his actions; his refusal to go to his one human friend for help; his lies; his corrosive alliances. He felt the self-condemnations echo around his own head, and without any brothers to overhear and correct, to wrongly sooth his ego and keep him flying in the same cramped circles, he could see the truth. His snapped into Dean’s view and felt weak with self-disgust.

His knees gave way and the hunter fell with him. They ended up in a tangle on the ground, knees kneeing knees, the angel’s body hunched over the hunter’s. He could feel jerks yanking their way out of his body, but the only intentional contact between them was Dean’s hold on his chin. His body jerked towards the hunter’s, but he wouldn’t let his forehead touch his shoulder, or his hand wrap around his waist and take the support to keep from falling.

But then a miracle happened. Dean wrapped his arms around his friend, hand racing up to his neck and pulling him in, side of his hand finding its way under his shirt and digging in hard enough to bruise into the white flesh just under his waistband.

He wasn’t crying, but his body rocked and cringed and he could hear nothing but the roar of flames far louder than those surrounding them. He kept a grip on the angel, and when one particularly harsh jerk thrust its way out of him, he took his friend’s entire weight, keeping even the edges of him as far from the circle of flame as he could.

Castiel subsided in minutes and breaths, feeling full of running water rather than crisped by the internal flames that had burned him for months. He felt cool, and the world felt clear. Dean’s hand was still deep in his hair and sliding between the inside of his pants up his spine, under his shirt, then back down, pinkie pushing his underwear lower with each stroke.

Castiel concentrated on the feeling of his friend’s skin and as his breathing evened out, a long-dormant flame uncurled in his belly. He nearly quashed it—they had so much to discuss that would not benefit from relieving this tension—but he dove into it instead, let it ripple itself around him. He swayed back far enough to see the hunter’s tense face and then, slow as sleep-breathing, leaned in. They bumped noses, and then jaws, and finally lips touching, dry and wet, exploring, simple, like passing the truth back and forth between them to make it stronger.

Dean’s hand came in tight to his back and he moaned at the tight pressure. He didn’t have room to take off his jacket without endangering them both with the holy flame, but he did press Dean’s knees over and down before climbing into his lap, lips never breaking contact. The hunter’s breath was coming in whispers and gasps and when Castiel pushed himself that last moment closer he grunted and pushed up into him.

They were separated by more then cloth; they still didn’t have an accord on their next steps, on what this might mean. But the fire was in their eyes and they closed them against its light and meaning, just feeling the other and getting as close as two mortal bodies can. No outside voices; no outside agenda; just their harsh breathing in each other’s ears. 

Castiel’s mind was hopping back and forth to the last time they’d lain together on a concrete floor, and he pulled away reluctantly, staring into Dean’s eyes. He slipped his hands from Dean’s body and placed his palms over his ears, staring at the hunter, willing him to understand. Dean nodded and tugged the angel back in for a kiss, saying, 

“It’s only you and me. Just us and just time. You don’t have to--”

But Castiel’s finger was over Dean’s stilling lips.

“I haven’t had space to think in months. I cannot believe the quiet. We've never, when I could be alone in my own mind. Before we do anything else, can we--” and he ground his hips down, eliciting a dirty chuckle.

“Yes.” He said, nipping his way down the angel’s neck, “And for once,” he said slipping a hand into the angel’s slacks and cupped him through his briefs, “We don’t have to be quiet.”

Castiel couldn’t help the lush moan or the jerk his hips took without his leave. He fumbled to reciprocate, viciously popping the hunter’s jean button and yanking its zipper the short way down. Dean’s cock rose through the gap, pressing wet and hot through his briefs. 

He took a breath and ghosted his palm over it before scooting his body forward and pressing their lengths together. Both men gasped and pressed into each other. For a moment Castiel could see them coming from this, a soggy writhing heap in the middle of the most dangerous substance known to angels, but angel reigned himself in, pulled back, lip tucked between his teeth to keep himself on target.

He was not able or willing to stop his own hips’ shadow jerks and twists, but he said,

“I want to you inside me, I want you around me. Just you.” The hunter quivered and shook and helped Cas climb off of his lap. Cas rolled to his knees with his bare ass facing Dean, back arching cat awaiting pats, knees apart, hips canted. The low sound in his chest Dean made at the sight brought a smirk to the angel’s face, but he kept his body still.

He expected a cold hand, maybe some saliva, but when Dean came into his view a moment later, Castiel was confused. _Was Dean leaving him exposed, with no relief? Was this a…punishment?_ He shut his shoulders in, head dropping, neck long and tense.

At the top of his vision, he saw the hunter reach over for the vessel of holy oil, pick it up, and carry it back outside of the angel’s field of vision. His breath hitched and caught. _Could he? Would that even—?_

His mind was a swirling mass and blank at the same time. He could see flashes of images of the future—Dean’s body leaning over him, his hole stretched wide around the hunter’s cock, the pattern of his cum on the basement floor.

He felt a hand on his hip, sliding up his back and rubbing back down. He pushed up into it, the heat of the fire surrounding them nothing like that pulsing from the hunter’s body. Dean rubbed his hand around the angel’s waist. He crowded in close, hovering over the angel’s exposed places, so there were never more than a few inches of air on his bare skin. 

Castiel shuddered at the first press of Dean’s clothed cock against his ass, and the moaned when a hand came around to grip him, already slick with the oil, rubbing it up and down his length, pulling him to fullness. Dean paused at his base before sliding down, rubbing his fingers back-and-forth over the skin on his balls. Castiel could feel the thrum of blood in the man behind him, could feel the pressure of his erection on the side of his hip, but every step was conscientious, careful of him and of the tense pieces between them.

At the first brush he pulled himself in. It had been so long since he’d felt this, felt anything like this Dean, he could barely remember it enough to anticipate it with anything approaching joy. He was hard in his muscles as well as his cock, mind stiff with fear—what if he couldn’t  remember how to relax, how to enjoy this with Dean—and then Dean’s breath brushed his ear, his hand stilled and he heard,

“Shhh, I’ve got you. We can do this or something else or nothing at all. I’ve got you.” The angel shuddered but shook his head. _No. I need this. I need to remember this while my mind is still clear_. He pushed back into Dean’s head, moving his hips under the clothed erection pressed against his entrance.

“Ok, Cas, ok, let’s get you ready.” Dean said, breathless at having made himself pause. He shifted and Castiel could guess from the smell he’d reannointed his hands with the holy oil. That imagined image nearly did Castiel in. Dean’s hand slipping into the broad-mouthed vessel, scooping the thrice-blessed olive oil from the great-grandchild trees of the first olive trees in Jerusalem that had looked on when the son of God had swayed in on the back of a donkey.

When he felt the brush of his fingers, the heat rushing up and down the sides of his body felt like the sweep of his brother’s wings that first day he’d spent on earth, like the breaking dawn sun on a desert as he watched over a prophet, like the heat of Dean’s soul as he pulled him up out of hell.

He felt warm and when Dean slipped inside him, it felt like when he’d tucked Dean’s soul into the crook of his wing before sweeping around, sword turning half a legion of demons to ash as another legion rose up behind them, intent on capturing and keeping an angel along with the righteous man.

When he was two fingers deep, Dean was breathing heavily. Castiel was pushing back as the hunter pushed into him. As Dean paused to get more oil, pulling his fingers out, the angel bucked at the loss, body so tense and tight he felt like he would die if he wasn’t full of the hunter again _this very instant_.

“NO, Dean, NOW.” He said, surprised to hear his voice loud and deep and cracking.

Dean said nothing, but Castiel could imagine him nodding. Then he lined himself up and began the slow, inexorable push. His slightly wide head stretched the angel’s hole wider and the angel froze under the onslaught before the pleasure came back in spirit-rocking waves. Then Dean was moving faster, pushing in and pulled out, breath hot on Cas’s neck. It felt, in this order, good _good_ GOODsharphotwetGOODwarmtootight _right_ smoothRIGHT. He could feel his breath trickling out of his lips, could feel the wind whipping over the tops of the fire to brush his face.

The smell of their combined sweat was sharp over the clear charcoal smell of the holy fire.

And the _sounds_. The wet slap of Dean’s balls against his, Dean’s mouthed breaths over his nape, the velvet-slick sound of Dean pulling out and sliding back in. One of Dean’s hands ghosted down his arm, trailing through his light hair, then back up to his chest before moving down to his hanging cock.

He twisted his wrist and Castiel lost his sense of vision. He was overwhelmed—the feel of Dean’s mouth on his neck, his hand on his cock, his cock in Castiel. His mind hopped between the drag and jerk of Dean’s cock in him to the slick wetness on his neck, to the details of his palm on his dick. He felt like he was trying to see the world through three entirely different perceptions but then they snapped entirely together and he knew what was coming. He tensed, hips tucking in, body shuddering,

“Dean, Dean, I’m, I’m going—” and he felt Dean nod into his neck. He built up and built and built and up and up and up but he couldn’t, couldn’t get there. He was perfectly compressed, entirely coiled, hard and raging and NEEDING and then his hips bucked and Dean swore, pushing until they were entirely flushed and he felt him start, his hips stuttering and going faster and faster in and out of him, releasing and released and out of all conscious control. That thought, that Dean was letting himself free in his own body ripped the orgasm out of Castiel, threw him down the falls and up with the sky rocket, spinning in the hurricane and perfectly still on top of the mountain.

He was everywhere his body was being touched, he was inside Dean’s mind and his cock and his hand and receiving those touches as well. He saw the world in six ways and then it faded and fazed out until he only lived in his one body, held up by a thread connecting his elbows and forearms to his shoulders and Dean’s weight and pressure keeping his hips above his knees, rather than curling down into a warm circle of Dean’s arms, safe from everything and in the quiet. He took a breath, pushing his back into Dean’s back and luxuriated in the slick of sweat between their bodies. He let out a last shudder, feeling Dean’s softening dick shift inside him

He pulled forward, wanting to get inside his own body alone for a moment, and Dean pulled away with a soft slick sound. His hand was over his lower belly, his mouth still near the angel’s ear. He said,

“Cas…” He could hear the _Are you ok? Was that ok? Can we rest for just a minute._

“Yes, Dean. I’m here. We’re here, alone and together.”

 Dean settled his head down on his friend, took a deep breath, and then began to think how he would get them out of this ring of fire and back to fixing the world. But did so feeling warmer than the flames could account for, knowing his friend would be beside him the entire time.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A present for annecto-lien (http://archiveofourown.org/users/annecto_lien) for being awesome and finishing her 00q Sherlock crossover. You don't even understand how amazing her fic is, and this was my porny incentive for her to finish it.
> 
> Also, come say hi on tumblr! I'm generally at jocarthage.tumblr.com


End file.
